Page 31 of Any Rogue Will Do
“Montague didn’t?”
“Not in person. So since this is my first proposal, I want you to do it right. Even if it is a sham.” She primly folded her hands in her lap and waited.
His expression softened. “Well, let no one ever say I can’t fake propose with conviction.” Amesbury eased off the sofa, then took a knee at her feet and held out his hand, palm up.
As she laid the tips of her fingers across the rough pads of his, a worry niggled at the hope bursting through her. “Are you sure? By starting down this path, knowing I’ll end it, you’re opening yourself to the ridicule of the entireton.”
“We’re friends. I don’ have many of those. I value the few I have,” he said with a shrug.
“I don’t think either of us expected this when we decided to be friends.”
His fingers wrapped around hers, anchoring them together. “We’re partners in this now.” He cleared his throat. “I wasn’ raised tae be a fancy gentleman. And I’ve already failed you once. I won’ betray you again, lass.” He donned a serious expression, but the twinkle in his eye ruined the effect. “Lady Charlotte Wentworth, will you do me the honor of being my faux fiancée?”
A giggle bubbled up, even though she knew this wasn’t a real proposal. Romance and true love weren’t in her future, by choice, but this moment of friendship and having an ally was precious. “Yes, Lord Amesbury. I’d be happy to be your faux fiancée.”
He grinned, then got to his feet and pulled her up to stand. “Let’s go write our engagement announcement and ruin Montague’s plans.”
It wasn’t until he’d left for theTimesoffice that she noticed the parcel abandoned on the sofa. She set aside the note tucked into the string, unwrapped the paper, and began to laugh. He’d brought her a beautifully bound volume of Francis Grose’sDictionary of the Vulgar Tongue. Still chuckling, she read the note, written in scrawling penmanship.
So your tongue may be as sharp as your wit.
Looking forward to crossing swords again soon.
Your friend,
Ethan
Chapter Twelve
TheTimesannounced the engagement on Wednesday, two days before Montague’s threatened date. There it was in black and white. The longer Lottie stared at it, the stranger it became. She’d saved the paper, as nonsensical as that action was, stashing it in the drawer beside her bed. It wasn’t as if any of this was real, after all. On the seventh morning of her faux engagement, she read the announcement for the thousandth time, then girded her proverbial loins for that day’s gossip columns. The rags, being the upstanding informational tools to the masses that they were, had been going wild with the story.
“How bad is it this morning?” she asked Darling.
“The papers or the servants’ gossip network?” Darling laid out a dress for the morning, then took the paper from Lottie and tucked it back in the drawer.
Lottie winced. “Both, I suppose. Are the servants saying worse things than the papers?”
A lord offering for the woman he’d once shunned was too juicy a tidbit for people to resist. The old satirical cartoons resurfaced from the archives and were published alongside new ones. Even people who couldn’t read knew the alleged details of her love life. The most popular image showed a pathetic groom walking down the aisle of a church with a life-sized cutout of her tucked under one arm like a newspaper as he trudged toward a bishop holding out a bag of gold. It wasn’t even a flattering likeness—if such a thing were possible when speaking of mocking caricatures.
“Some love the romance of it, you know? A man ruins a woman, then wins her back, and they fall in love. Word is, you have a heart of gold and the patience of a saint.”
Lottie snorted. That was one way to interpret it. Not remotely true. But creative. “What’s the other side say?”
“You broke Mr. Montague’s heart by choosing a title over love. Those people think you’re a moneygrubbing hussy. We don’t like those people.” Darling shook out a chemise and placed it with the day dress on the bed.
“No, I suppose we wouldn’t like those people. Is Montague still flapping his jaw all over Christendom?” She tried to laugh it off, but it stung to think of strangers passing judgment on her based on false information.
“The man should be on the stage from what I hear. A more wounded martyr for love you’ve never seen. The cartoonists are having a grand time, let me tell you. Between you and me, I think he’s selling these stories to pay his gambling debts,” Darling said.
“Too bad I can’t tell everyone he’s the real brute here, not Lord Amesbury. Have you heard back from Patrick regarding our little subterfuge?” At her request, Darling had sent a letter to Patrick the same day Amesbury had brought the announcement to theTimes. With any luck, by the time the edition of the paper announcing their engagement arrived at Stanwick, Patrick would have prepared the staff to follow her instructions. The servants ironed the paper before Father read it over breakfast—although he didn’t always read the news, since the world beyond his library was of little interest. The papers ended up passed around the servants’ hall and eventually burned as kindling. But just in case, they’d enlisted Patrick in making that particular edition disappear. As long as Father hadn’t developed a taste for gossip pages, they should be able to contain news of her engagement until Montague had moved on and she was ready to figure out her next step.
“Not yet. Patrick will have taken care of it, don’t you worry. As to you and Montague, and what went on—I’ve held my tongue. But it’s hard,” Darling said.
“On what side are our servants?” Lottie flipped back the coverlet, then crossed to the vanity table for her hairbrush. She’d expected there would be talk, but Montague casting himself as the victim fed the flames of the gossip columns, making the chatter that much worse.
“This staff has a righteous fear of Dawson’s wrath, and Dawson’s taken a shine to you and Lady Agatha. None of us would speak against you. But servants talk at the market, over the back gate, couples stepping out together.” Darling shrugged, leaving the rest unsaid. There was nothing they could do about the talk.
Darling handed her the day’s papers. Lottie perched on the window seat to read the newest fabrications, innuendos, and allegations delivered to their door. Today’s columns reported seeing Mr. Montague visibly distraught. Not news. She snorted indelicately, then flipped to the next page.
